I hate seeing the clock wind around over and over again in a monotonous wheel of unnerving seconds, moments, minutes and hours. Nights beyond late evenings bustling with music, televisions blaring, drinks pouring into bottomless glasses and then nothing. Crickets. Bright stars barging through the blackened sky and me. Up and alone in my solitude with none but my PlayStation 4 controller and a few fictitious characters to accompany me.
It’s funny how quickly the sun is to set and yet it takes what feels like millennia to restore itself to that cozy perch in the sky. I lie in my humid room on the same mundane bed I rest on every night. The disgustingly flat pillows stacked just high enough to support my neck. The fan is on high. I look into the ceiling with my legs crossed and my arms folded behind my head. No objective. No end goal. No reason.
I have to admit, as I travel on this never ending cycle of emotions that comes neatly coupled with my anxiety and depression, I have become quite the conundrum. Everything is so very irritating and yet none of it makes any sense. When I used to think about getting frustrated I’d think of yelling and pulling my hair out at the root. But now the very epitome of frustration has become getting trapped between all of these annoyingly ordinary places. The chains of entrapment holding you to that same ridiculous routine. What frustration means is that it’s time for a change.
Frustration is that itch that can never fully be scratched. You can stay up staring at the wall, playing that game or drinking that same cheap boring coffee or you can do something about it.